After the intellectual repartee with Capt. Plastic Pants, I decided to stop for rejuvenation before pressing onward toward the Gulf of Mexico, and the pleasures therefore to be had. Luckily, next to the dive Plastic Pants typically hangs around, is a watering hole of more suitable caliber for those of mask and cape wearing ilk. I properly nourished my more superhero-ly characteristics with malted refreshments, and proceeded to the nearest departure point of the GonzWagon.